


The Prettiest Toy

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jon Snow Knows Something, M/M, Prompt Fill, Ros knows everything, Sex Toys, So much smut, Theon fucks (up), and fluff yay, omg really, poor Jon - Freeform, very little plot, very porny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-07 20:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: The plan is actually quite simple, just what he told Ros. Put the plug thing on Snow’s pillow, wait till he finds it and laugh about his stupid face when he starts showing it around Winterfell because he has no idea what to do with it. And then watch him dying of mortification when someone tells him. Easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo! 
> 
> I wrote this some time ago, then put it aside because I had no idea how to proceed after the first part, but now inspiration hit and here is part 1!
> 
> Tagged it as underage bc canon Jon is underage. 
> 
> For an anon prompt on asoiafkinkmeme (from February 2015 - a fucking long time ago!):
> 
> Theon, feeling mischievous, stills a stack of sex toys on his latest visit to the brothel. He wraps them up and put them under the guise of a present, that he lets on Jon's pillow to prank him.
> 
> Little does he know that Jon, ever so curious will later try them out, and even come to love the present an anonymous friend has sent to him. 
> 
> Modern era can be accepted, but canon era would be so much better!
> 
> x1000 If Theon spies on Jon later, or happens to hear dubious sounds behind Jon's door late at night, hence him finding out that Jon uses the toys.  
> x10 000 If Theon offers some help, and it all turns into the most debauched sex.  
> x100 000 if it becomes a habit for Theon to purchase sex toys so that he can see Jon play with them.

The plan is all set the second Theon lays eyes on the _thing_. It’s pretty small, peg-shaped, with something like a stud. He has no idea what it is called but grasps the purpose immediately, one could say, _intuitively_. Ros sees him staring and stops moaning beneath him for a second.

“Are you interested, m’lord? I can show you many new pleasures if you’re willing to step on that particular path.”

Her slender arm reaches behind her head, to the board where the thing is sitting, taking it in hand. It nearly disappears completely in her fist, only the stud visible from under her hand. With a sly smile she moves her hand with the thing towards his rear and he smacks it away with a laugh.

“Insolent wench, I should slap you for your boldness.”

He continues moving in her and Ros rolls her eyes, gives him a short wink and starts moaning again like the whore she is. Theon grins at her shivering performance. He knows she’s a good actress, but he also knows it isn't all show. He slips a hand between their bodies and quickly finds the tiny knob on top of her cunt, he starts rubbing it gently and her moans take on a different shade, turn darker and more guttural.

After he’s spilled his seed deep inside her he watches her wash herself, her legs still trembling. Curiosity gets the better of him and he searches the furs for the discarded thing. When he finds it he weighs it in his palm.

“Ros, sweetling?” He grins at her indignant look at being addressed thus. “Would you mind if I take that with me? I have something in mind… and I gather your own little arse doesn’t require the training anymore.”

“If you say so, m’lord,” she answers with an impish smile on her pretty face. “Though I have to say, poor bastard.”

Theon raises an eyebrow at her.

“You’re too clever for your own good, woman.” He grins. “But you needn’t fear for him. I’ll leave this on his pillow and revel in his abashment when he tries to figure out what it is, and - once he knows - how to get rid of it inconspicuously.”

“Poor Jon Snow,” Ros repeats with a shake of her head. “Or poor you, m’lord.”

With these mysterious words she collects the money he’s placed on a table, her sign for him that it is time to leave. Grinning Theon places another coin in her palm.

“Not so fast. Turn around. You whetted my appetite for a second course.”

***

The plan is actually quite simple, just what he told Ros. Put the plug thing on Snow’s pillow, wait till he finds it and laugh about his stupid face when he starts showing it around Winterfell because he has no idea what to do with it. And then watch him dying of mortification when someone tells him. Easy.

Theon waits for Snow to be training in the yard, slyly waits for the chambermaids to be finished with his room (not that there’s much to do, Snow lives like the most unpretentious person in the world), then sneaks in and prominently places the thing right in the middle of Snow’s pristine pillow.

It looks innocent, lying there, the last rays of the watery sun catching in the polished metal. For a moment Theon listens, not hearing the clanging of swords anymore. He still has enough time to arrange things though, Snow’s always the one to put the swords away after practice.

A last look convinces him that everything is as it should be. Now all he has to do is wait for the next morning and Snow’s puzzled face.

***

To Theon’s dismay Snow’s face isn’t puzzled at all when he comes down to breakfast, a little late. He looks the same as always, frowning and stupid. Only when he sits down his dour face takes on a different expression, his mouth forms a round little o while his eyes pop wide open. Theon watches him with suspicion.

Can he…? Impossible. How would he even… Snow shifts a little on the hard bench and inhales sharply. Theon looks on in disbelief. This can’t be true. Jon fucking Snow, the gloomiest person alive, has a metal plug up his arse. A hot rush travels down Theon’s spine at the thought of what must’ve went down behind closed doors.

He can picture it perfectly, how Snow gingerly fingered the thing, studying it from every angle before he reached behind himself… Or maybe he was lying on his back, his legs spread, everything on display. Theon swallows dryly. Did he slick it with something, to make it easier? Or did he just shove it in, wincing at the pain - but it just didn’t override the pleasure enough to pull it out again...

Maybe he’s sucked it to get it nice and wet, to warm the cold metal. Snow’s mouth stretched around the plug… To his horror Theon feels his prick twitch at the thought, half hard against his thigh. Snow always had the most damnable mouth, this image now is unbelievable.

A soft moan, barely audible, brings Theon back to the present, to Snow on the far end of the table, gripping the edge with both hands, sweat on his brow as he tries to stop squirming. No one else seems to notice this odd behaviour, everyone is entirely occupied by their breakfast.

Only Theon doesn’t miss the way Snow’s breath comes in short, flat huffs, the way his eyes threaten to fall shut every other moment, the knuckles of his hands white from his tight grip. I’d give anything to see how it looks, Theon thinks. I’d give anything to know how hard he is right now. And what he’d do to get off.

When Snow leaves the breakfast table, by now walking a little stiffer than when he came down, Theon follows. As he thought he would, Snow directly marches up to his chamber, hastily closing the door. He doesn’t bother with locking it, and why would he? No one ever comes looking for Snow.

Will Snow jerk himself off now? Will he keep the plug inside while doing so? Will he bite his lip, will he moan out loud? What is he thinking of, how is he doing it? Maybe on his knees, one hand around his prick, the other clawing at the furs. Or maybe he’s lying face down, rutting into his bed until he spills, crying out like a wanton whore.

Theon takes a look around. No one is ever around here at this time. Or at any time. With a hint of guilt he lets his hand slip into his breeches and wraps his long fingers around his own prick, rock hard and aching. He leans against Snow’s door and holds his breath, slowly stroking up and down his length.

Any guilt dissolves when there’s a long, low moan, audible through the thick wooden door, which means it must’ve been _really_ fucking loud. Theon gasps, gripping himself harder, moving his hand faster. The thought of Snow’s stuffed little hole is enough to send him over the edge, quicker than any other time in a very long while.

He groans when he spills over his hand, wringing his prick for the last drops of seed before wiping his hand on his breeches. Damn… Behind Snow’s door there’s dead silence and Theon reckons he must’ve fallen asleep. Who knows what he did the whole night, all by himself with his new toy.

Strange enough, Theon muses, he doesn’t even feel ashamed anymore for tossing himself off to the thought of Snow pleasuring himself. Snow is a pretty boy and Theon’s Ironborn after all. Ironborn do what they want, take what and whoever they want. He could fuck Snow through the whole of Winterfell if he wanted to and no one back home would even bat an eyelid.

Fucking Snow… Replacing that cold metal with his own hard, swollen prick, driving it into Snow again and again, making him scream even louder, scream out his name, begging for more like the lewd slut his mother must’ve been… Theon curses when he feels his prick hardening again. This newfound fantasies are bound to take their toll.

***

Snow emerges in the early afternoon, walking perfectly fine and glaring at Theon on his way to Maester Luwin’s lessons. So far so ordinary. He sits down perfectly normal and talks perfectly normal (that is, not much) and acts like he’s never turned himself into a shivering mess while driving Theon insane.

To Snow’s credit, he didn’t know Theon was there outside his door, or he probably would’ve died in shame. Or, depending on his mood, would’ve killed Theon in shameful anger. A violent shudder goes through Theon at the thought of Snow, seething with rage. His hands would wrap around Theon’s throat while Snow would ride his prick, venting all the hate and contempt he has always felt for Theon in a hard and brutal fuck.

Theon bites on his quill to prevent himself from moaning out loud at the thought. His prick is - impossible! - hard again, as if he were a green boy of fifteen once more. If this is what Snow is experiencing right now, the perpetual itch, the desperate urge… Theon has to applaud him for his restraint.

At night Theon sneaks to Snow’s door again, unable to keep away. And he doesn’t come in vain, Snow apparently is a noisy little thing once he gets going. To every whimper from inside Theon fists his prick harder, faster, nearly sore after the discoveries of that day.

Tomorrow, Theon resolves, he’s going to visit Ros and ask her if there’s more. Something else. Something bigger. Something Snow can split himself open with properly. If only Theon could see…

***

“Woah. Just… where do you get this stuff from?”

Theon looks down at the long carved stone, shaped obscenely like a cock. A perfect cock, even with that slight curve to it Theon knows drives women mad with pleasure. A bit like his own, actually.

Ros blinks innocently.

“There’s a Lysene merchant, m’lord. He drives through the whole of Westeros once a year, from Sunspear to Mole’s Town. He has _many_ interesting things on offer.”

Oh? Theon ponders that. For now this one should do nicely, but he has the slight inkling that the game has really just begun. He wants to see how far Snow will go, what he is willing to do to himself.

“When do you expect the man again?”

“Your timing couldn’t be better, m’lord.” Ros stretches out on her bed, smiling up at him invitingly. “About two moons from now.”

Slowly she spreads her legs and Theon’s gaze is drawn between them, her folds glistening like a promise. Really, sometimes Theon could swear that wench can get herself sopping wet on command.

Not that he’s complaining. He’s already paid for her time, he might as well plow that sweet cunt until she screams. Theon drops the stone cock onto the table and starts to unlace.

***

This time Theon makes more of an effort. He goes as far as to sneak into the women’s part of the castle to pinch a scrap of silk from Septa Mordane’s fabric basket.

He wraps the stone cock in it, almost lovingly, like a precious gift. On a piece of parchment he scribbles, “Enjoy”, and leaves the whole thing in Snow’s room again, beneath the pillow now. If anyone finds it… There’s no mistaking the purpose of _this_ thing.

He doesn’t go far, merely hides in the unoccupied chamber next to Snow’s, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar. After an entirely too long time he hears footsteps, then the creaking of a door.

Theon pokes his head out, and upon finding Snow’s door closed he sneaks up to it, pressing his ear against the wood. He thinks he hears something like a chuckle and for a moment he wonders if there’s someone else in there - Snow never laughs.

But it’s definitely Snow’s voice that he hears crying out a few minutes later.

“Good gods… oh… aaaah!!”

Theon’s prick goes up so fast he nearly faints, he has to put a hand to the door to steady himself. The moaning inside hasn’t stopped, if anything it grows louder and louder until Theon is sure it can be heard all the way to the Wall by now.

He pictures Snow on all fours, one hand reaching behind to fuck himself on the hard stone cock, pushing it in and out, faster and faster, maybe hard enough to have him fall over, face pressed into the furs, drooling into them in pleasure.

Theon gasps, he grabs his prick so hard it nearly hurts, tight, tight as Snow’s hole must be, he imagines it clenching around his cock and with a groan he spills his seed all over Snow’s door.

It’s the first of many such stains.

***

It quickly becomes a routine in Theon’s day, sneaking to Snow’s door after nightfall, listening for the tiniest sound. And Snow does not disappoint, night after night he unknowingly puts on a play of moans and cries for Theon.

Even during the day Theon catches himself staring at the bastard, his gaze tracing the lines of his neck and jaw, imagining bruises on that pale skin, bruises he wants to put there.

His fingers twitch to tangle in those unruly curls, to hold Snow’s head in place as he fucks that pouty mouth, leaving it red and swollen, lips stained with Theon’s seed.

It’s nearly funny how obsessed Theon is with the bastard these days. He’s aware of every step Snow takes, of every move, every dark glance he gives Theon.

Sparring has become a torture, the sword (never exactly Theon’s forte) heavy in his hand, bruises blooming all over his skin because his reactions have slowed down considerably. He’s way too busy staring at Snow to parry his attacks.

And Snow doesn’t make it easier, his leathers all too soon fly to the side, quickly followed by a sweat-soaked tunic. Theon wants to lick the salt from the bastard’s chest.

He’s so occupied with imagining the taste on his tongue that he completely misses Snow charging at him and with a heavy thump Theon lands on his back, the bastard glaring down on him in triumph, nearly smiling.

Theon can smell him, sweat and dirt and something heavy, he just manages to stop himself from pushing up to bite at those curled lips. But he cannot keep his hips from rocking against the bastard’s, cannot keep the low moan escaping his throat, can do nothing to stop his prick from hardening.

He can see it in Snow’s face when he notices what’s going on below him, but instead of disbelief, or shame, or anger, Snow chuckles, short and low. He bends his neck until his face is nary an inch from Theon’s, his breath coming hard.

“Got you, Greyjoy,” he mutters, his hot, damp breath ghosting over the shell of Theon’s ear, and the world goes white.

All of a sudden Snow is gone, Theon can hear him talking to Ser Rodrik somewhere. He can’t get up. He’s just come in his pants at the near touch of Snow’s mouth, his head still spinning, his breeches damp and sticky.

“Get up, lad.” Ser Rodrik is looking down at him with a reproachful glance. “Maybe you should put the weapons away for a change if you have time lazing around down there.”

Theon slowly scrambles to his feet, swaying slightly. Snow is nowhere to be seen, his clothes gone. His sword is still there though, and, cursing under his breath, Theon takes it to the armoury with his own.

Afterwards he stalks straight to Snow’s chamber. If he doesn’t judge entirely wrong, the bastard’s blood will be running hot now and he’ll need to take care of himself before dinner.

And really, the loud moans are clearly heard through the thick door. Theon’s hand wanders down, he rubs his prick through his breeches - they’re ruined anyway, so why not shoot a second load in them? The dampness feels strangely good, and Theon leans his back on Snow’s door, slowly gliding down until he’s crouching there.

He moves his hand faster to the steady crescendo of noises from inside, imagining Snow on him, ready to sheath himself on Theon’s prick -

The door flies open and Theon lands on his back, a dark shadow looming over him. Fuck. Theon hastens to get to his feet, but all he manages is to kneel there in the doorway, eye in eye with Jon Snow’s hard prick. The bastard attached to said prick rolls his eyes.

“Come in already for fuck’s sake.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. Not so much of le sex here, a little bit only.

As quickly as he manages Theon scrambles up, swaying slightly. For a moment they just stare at each other, Theon too shocked for words, Snow with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s completely naked and Theon’s gaze drops down, magically drawn by Snow’s prick.

And what a fine one it is, not quite as long as his own (to Theon’s secret relief), pretty and thick. For a moment Theon wonders how he came to think of another man’s cock as pretty, but then he just shrugs. Nothing about his obsession with the bastard is ordinary somehow. 

The silence has went on for an achingly long time now, and when Theon looks up into Snow’s face, he can see why. He’s beet red, his cheeks looking like summer apples, his mouth poutier than ever. Theon grins. Seems like his coolness has left the bastard, now that he’s in here with him.

He can see Snow’s hands twitching, maybe he’s fighting the urge to cover himself. Well, Theon can’t allow that. With a well-aimed kick backwards he pushes the door closed before making a step towards Snow. Who pales so suddenly Theon is afraid he’ll faint for a moment.

He should put the boy out of his misery.

“Go and lie down on the bed.”

Snow swallows visibly, not making a move. Rolling his eyes, Theon turns to the door to lock it. When he turns back - the sight is too much, he starts laughing so hard he has to hold on to the door. Snow’s on the bed alright, but not lying down. Instead he’s wrapped himself in a thick fur, only his pinched-up face peering out.

“That,” Theon giggles, “is really sexy, Snow.”

No response. Really, for such a noisy thing once he’s got something up his arse, Snow seems ridiculously shy right now. More like Theon has thought him to be, actually. More in line with the Snow he thought he knew. 

“You coming or what.”

Snow’s voice sounds grumpy and defiant, and Theon does melt a little at his obvious panic. He has to remind himself that, if not technically, Snow is still a blushing virgin and he’s the experienced one and should ease the bastard into… whatever this is.

_ A fantasy getting out of hand. _

And that, right there, is the moment Theon realises what’s happening. He’s not going to wank while listening to the bastard’s moans as he fucks himself. There’s no door between them, no barrier, nothing. Just a mountain of furs.

But what Snow did to him out in the yard - he hadn’t seemed shy there at all, more predatory, like a wolf attacking his prey. The wolf is gone entirely, and in his place is now a shivering puppy, tail quite literally between his legs. Theon has to confess, it’s nearly endearing. 

“You don’t have to do this, Snow,” he hears himself say, a little surprised at the comforting tone that’s sneaked into his voice. “I sure as fuck won’t force you to do anything, alright?”

Snow’s frown only deepens at that, and with a violent move he shakes the furs away.

“Shut up and come here.”

The boy’s no craven, that much is clear. Slowly Theon makes his way over. The strangeness of the situation overwhelms him for a moment - he’d never thought to actually get his hands on the bastard after all, and if he’d thought of it he wouldn’t’ve imagined it like this. 

Focus on the goal, he tells himself sternly. And the goal is Snow’s pink mouth and Snow’s tight arse. The thought is enough to get his blood rushing down again and Theon stumbles over his feet for a moment. It’s only a second, but the sly boy uses it to disentangle himself further, laying bare all that is now Theon’s to reap.

He lets his gaze travel slowly, taking his time to appreciate every part of Snow’s fine, young body. He’s much better looking than the stable boy or the boy whore, Theon’s experiences with fucking men so far. Really, Snow is nice to look at. 

Firm chest, tiny, perky teats Theon wants to bite and suck, flat stomach, a very fine dusting of black hair leading down to Snow’s pretty prick - half-hard now, looking more humble than before. Theon wants to see it fully hard again. 

Beneath that prick Theon cannot see, can only guess how it looks - is he wearing the plug or not? Is there a tight and tiny hole to pry open, to ease into, or is it open already, stretched and just begging to be pounded? Theon swallows hard. 

“Turn around, Snow. Get on your hands and knees.”

For a moment it’s so silent Theon imagines he can hear the hairs bristling on Snow’s neck. It was too much, too hasty, wasn’t it? Theon curses himself silently, looking down at his feet. Now he’s scared him off or offended him, and now the bastard will never--

A shuffle has Theon look up quickly, in case Snow is coming at him, but what he sees instead robs him of his breath. The bastard has really done as he’s been told, he’s facing the wall now, propped up on his forearms and knees and his arse - Drowned fucking God. 

Snow isn’t wearing the plug. But his hole looks swollen, red and puffy, glittering with oil and just utterly inviting. Unaware of his movements Theon finds he has stumbled forward, his outstretched hand coming down hard on the bastard’s pert white cheeks with a satisfying slap. 

“Fuck, Snow,” he hisses, ignoring the bastard’s gasp. Displaying himself like this, just for Theon...

He cannot wait. After days and days of fantasizing about it, the prize is right there, in front of him, ready for the taking. So Theon takes. He lines his prick up and, without any ceremony whatsoever, drives himself into Snow’s arse, steady and fast, until he’s buried balls deep in that tight, slick heat. 

Snow moan-gasps, and Theon loses it. Forgotten is Snow’s mouth, forgotten his prick, forgotten every part of him that isn’t this unbelievable heat engulfing Theon. He starts moving, thrusting in and out and back in with quickening pace, hits harder, slams deeper, one heartbeat, two -- he spills his seed hard in Snow, after merely a half dozen thrusts. 

Theon’s eyes fall shut, he collapses over the warm, firm body still below him, dragging him down. He can feel his now sensitive prick slipping out of the warmth, and part of his mind whines at the loss. 

“Get out!”

The hissy voice doesn’t really fit with Theon’s current state of bliss, and he opens an unwilling eye to glare at Snow reproachfully. “What’s the matter, bastard? Haven’t you ever heard of a man needing a couple of minutes after a good fuck?”

“I have heard of that. After a  _ good  _ fuck.”

Now Snow has Theon’s full attention. He opens both eyes, his gaze falling on the bastard’s back as he’s perching lopsidedly on the edge of the bed, not even looking Theon’s way. What in the Drowned God’s name can he mean with that??

***

“He said it  _ wasn’t good!!!”  _

Theon has spent the last twenty minutes pacing up and down the length of Ros’ chamber, hands clenched into fists in his pockets. She’s watching him with raised eyebrows, letting him rave, not uttering a single word to his defense, or consolation. 

“And what do you think he said when he had me nearly shoved out of the door?” Theon stops, shivering in angered embarrassment at the memory. “Thanks for nothing, Greyjoy, he said, and he’d rather go back to the  _ fucking stone cock!!!” _

A sound behind him has Theon turn to Ros. Her expression can only be described as innocent attention, but he knows her too well. 

“Did you just laugh?”

“Oh, I would never, m’lord.” She smiles appealingly. “I merely am astonished - all japing aside, you’re a skilled lover and I haven’t had reason to complain, but… I beg your pardon, m’lord… What could possibly have gone wrong? You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“No, he was prepared and ready. Like a good boy whore ought to be, and he presented himself and well…” Theon waves his hands. “...I took him.”

Ros doesn’t comment on that, she just raises her eyebrows inquiringly. Theon snorts. 

“Can’t have been so bad, can it, he moaned when I fucked into him, alright? I mean, well, yeah, it  _ was  _ over pretty quick - don’t you grin at me, woman, if you’d seen him - I was horny, alright? I mean, he could’ve touched himself, couldn’t he? And it definitely isn’t my fault if he’s behaving like a silly, pouty, inexperienced--”

Theon stops, horrorstruck. 

“Virgin?” Ros finishes the sentence for him. “Shame on the bastard for sure, m’lord, for not knowing his way through his first fuck, like a seasoned whore.”

Theon’s throat tightens at her mocking words. She’s right. She’s perfectly right and he’s behaved worse to Snow than any wench or whore he’s ever had. He shakes his head, desperate, but Ros isn’t done with him.

“So, do I get this right, m’lord - you came, saw, spilled your seed and didn’t even touch the poor boy? Did he even… finish?”

“I’ve no idea,” Theon groans, “I’m a monster, alright? He won’t ever let me fuck him again. He’d be stupid if he would.”

“Indeed.” Ros’ voice sounds thoughtful, and when Theon looks at her he’s struck by her strange expression - pitying, reproachful, and a hint of surprise. “Do you want to, m’lord?”

Theon thinks about it. In theory he’s got what he’s been after, he’s fucked Snow - for a minute or so - hence it isn’t a novelty to be on the hunt for anymore. He knows how Snow’s arse feels when driving inside, warm and tight and unbearably  _ good _ \--

“Aye,” he grumbles reluctantly. “Aye, I do.”

If only to be able to make it up to Snow, to show him how good Theon actually is, that he isn’t so selfish a lover normally, that he can make him spend so hard he’ll never want for anything else but Theon’s prick inside him and Theon’s hands on him. 

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t notice Ros until her small, strong hand touches his arm. Her eyes are serious, her smile warm. 

“I won’t pretend I am not fond of you in a way, Lord Greyjoy. And as your friend - for I do consider myself your friend - I can only advise you. You have to apologize.” Her fingers tighten on his arm and she holds his gaze. “And that apology better be really grand.”

Theon stares at her silently until she removes her hand with a sigh. “You forget your place, wench,” he finally says, careful to sneer as best as he can. But when turning to leave her chamber he does place a silver coin on her table. 

“Thank you, Ros.”

***

“What do you want, Greyjoy?” The bastard, fully clothed this time, has his arms crossed tightly before his chest, his brow furrowed as dark as only Snow can pull off, his mouth an angry bow. “If you came to repeat last week’s performance, I fear I must disappoint you.”

Not a good beginning, Theon thinks miserably. Not a good  _ week _ since the Snow fiasco and the subsequent talk with Ros, if he’s honest. Just the next morning at breakfast he’d tried to be as attentive and friendly as he could - to the avail of Snow nearly swallowing his scone whole while glaring at him, before vanishing for the entire day. 

The next day hadn’t been any better, Snow hadn’t been at breakfast and when later at training his sword was smacked out of his hand, Theon, who’d been watching, had returned it. And Snow had looked as if he was about to run Theon through with it, blunt or not, hollering curses at him that Theon hadn’t even heard from the most vulgar sailors. 

Then he’d stormed off again, and after Robb - Snow’s sparring partner - had collected his jaw from the ground, Theon’d had to flee too to avoid an inquisition like, why was Jon so angry and why was Theon friendly to him, and could someone please explain it to Robb? 

Then, next there was the tunic. A really fine tunic, soft, warm but not too thick, and expensive enough that Theon’s next deal with the wine merchant will have to be in two moons rather than one. But he’d bought it, gritting his teeth as he’d given the saleswoman more than two thirds of his allowance, had wrapped it up and left it at Snow’s door. 

The same evening he’d found said tunic, wrapped around a huge load of foul, moldy horse apples, waiting for him on his bed. How Snow had managed to get in there, Theon hadn’t been able to find out. 

So now he’s here, in person, at Snow’s door, not quite willing to say the actual words - Greyjoys never apologize. But it’s Theon’s last resort, and although Snow’s stance and words aren’t encouraging at all, he has to give it a try.

He’s actually thought about it a lot, about what to say, has rehearsed his little speech over and over. How he didn’t mean to be that quick, how it was Snow’s pretty looks that had made him act like he had, how he’d do better the next time, and could there be a next time right now--

Looking into Snow’s eyes now, however, and detecting a hint of sadness behind the angry facade, all those carefully prepared words fly out of Theon’s head and he’s only left with some others he never meant to say. 

“I’m sorry, Snow. I’m really, really sorry for how I went… how I did…” 

Snow’s arms come loose, his mouth relaxes, lips opening slightly - and now there’s a new thought, one that hasn’t crossed Theon’s mind before - he wants to kiss Snow. He wants to taste the bastard’s lips, wants to know if his mouth is as warm and good as his arse. So, being Theon, he does.

It’s just a half-step, a tilt of the head, a brush of warm skin, and yet it feels like a mile, a race, an open flame. For one blink of an eye Snow is stiff, unresponsive, but Theon leans in and takes more. And gradually the bastard loses his rigid posture, his lips move beneath Theon’s, his mouth wet and hot and so, so sweet. 

Kissing has never been a favourite of Theon’s, merely a chore necessary to get a wench to let him under her skirts. Kisses are boring. Dull. This now, though, this kissing Snow, tasting his mouth - it’s the difference between linen and satin, between a table wine and a Dornish Red. 

Maybe it’s because this is the first boy Theon kisses, neither the stable boy nor the boy whore expected it of him, and had they Theon would’ve laughed. They were just holes to him, tight and willing and  _ there _ . This is Snow. And Snow is melting in his arms, the icy demeanour vanishing. 

Theon breaks away to look at him. Snow’s eyes are hazy, his cheeks flushed, his lips kiss-swollen and inviting. They’re still in the doorway and although no one ever comes, Theon wants this to continue very much, so he gently pushes Snow inside. 

“Greyjoy, you can’t just--”

Theon silences Snow’s returning wits with another assault on his mouth, a deeper kiss now, gently moving tongues and wet, lewd sounds. He could do this forever, with his fingers now sifting through the bastard’s silky hair, so much like a pretty girl’s, so good.

“Forgive me?” Theon asks, breath coming short. “Please say that you forgive me.”

He kisses the bastard again, soft pecks all over his lips until Snow moans and presses closer, his body a firm, strong weight against Theon’s.

“I forgive you,” mumbles the bloody bastard, his voice low and rough. “I forgive you - if you let me fuck you.”

It’s like a ball of snow in the face after a bath in the hot springs, and Theon can feel the chills rushing down his spine. Snow must’ve noticed, he raises his hand as if to stroke Theon’s hair, hesitates, then wraps it around his neck instead. 

“It’s up to you, Greyjoy,” he whispers, his face determined and courageous. “Take it - or leave. Altogether.”

Leave. Yes, that’s the answer. Leave right now with his maidenhood and his dignity still intact, leave with the memory of how he’d fucked the bastard of Winterfell like the whore his mother was, and never look back. Never remember how Snow had felt under his hands and how he’d licked into his delicious mouth and sucked on his bottom lip and pulled him close and--

“Alright,” Theon croaks, utterly defeated. “Have your way with me, Snow.”

The bastard smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: soooo much sex!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... ah... this got double as long as intended. And double as explicit, which I don't really do normally because I'm a prude at heart and can't even reread this without serious shame and lethally blushing.

Panic sets in immediately, despite Snow kissing him again while crowding closer, as if he wants to merge their bodies. Theon’s heart races. Ironborn don’t get fucked - they do the fucking, and plenty of that. 

He can all too well imagine his father’s face, his violent reaction if he were ever to hear of his only son and heir being taken up the arse by Ned Stark’s bastard son. He’d disinherit Theon on the spot, beat him senseless, then throw him into the waves beneath Pyke. 

“I’m glad you complied,” the bastard’s voice pierces the haze in Theon’s mind. “I really want to know what it is like. Will I feel the same you did? So eager to fuck, so desperate to spill that you become a mere hole to do it in?”

Theon shudders at these many words, unusual coming from Jon the broody bastard Snow, at the reproach in them. “I’m really sorry, Snow,” he mumbles, desperately trying to have his voice betray nothing of his inner turmoil. “I don’t mean to justify anything, but…”

“But?” Snow asks, his fingers wandering over Theon’s neck and down to his stomach, under his shirt and up again until Theon cannot help a shudder. 

“It’s been… ah… it’s been weeks, Snow.” The wandering fingers pinch his left nipple and a violent jerk runs through Theon. “Drowned… Weeks! Hearing you moan and cry out and -- good gods -- imagining it was me making you sound like that and then you  _ let me in _ \-- fuck!!”

He hisses as Snow drags the heel of his hand down the front of Theon’s breeches, his pretty, nervous face betraying his displayed expertise. He doesn’t say any more, so Theon rambles on, anxious to fill the silence lest his flight instincts take over.

“And you should’ve seen… so ready, so inviting - Snow, what--” Theon’s breeches fall down in a rustle of fabric and Snow takes a step back. 

“Turn around.”

It’s said solemnly, almost sternly, and for a moment Snow sounds so much like Lord Stark - Theon’s not sure if that’s actually a boner killer or not, but before he can decide, Snow’s hands are on his shoulders, he’s unceremoniously turned and pushed towards the bed. 

Well, Snow hadn’t behaved like a coward and neither will Theon. He deserves no better, really. Thus determined, Theon bends and stretches his naked arse in the bastard’s direction, hoping he won’t notice the trembling of Theon’s legs. For a very long moment there’s silence, then--

“Oh. I… I see.”

It’s choked, hoarse, nearly inaudible, and while Theon is still puzzling what it is the bastard is seeing, there’s a hurried step and a thump - Snow has dropped to his knees behind Theon, his warm breath is turning Theon’s buttocks to gooseflesh and he’s got absolutely no idea what on earth the bastard can be up to now.

He finds out soon enough, and it’s the shock of his life - even more shocking than listening to Snow fucking himself on a stone cock, more shocking than Snow actually wanting him - and Theon grips onto the furs for dear life as Snow applies his mouth to Theon’s backside and  _ sucks.  _

_ Drowned. Fucking. God!!! _

The first lick is strange, the second less so, and by the time Snow has his tongue buried in Theon’s arse he can do nothing but whimper, and writhe, and beg for more of this newfound ecstasy. And Snow complies, he takes Theon apart thoroughly with his mouth, his warm, square hand clumsily wraps around Theon’s cock and pumps him jerkily. 

Tears of gratitude spring to Theon’s eyes at this treatment, this is so much more than he deserves and all of it feels so good and Snow’s tongue goes so  _ deep _ \- Theon gasps when said tongue is replaced by a hesitating finger, this is different, uncomfortable at first, but then the finger grazes a spot that lights Theon’s body up like a bonfire and he cries out. 

So this is the secret, this is the reason why the others were begging him for more, this is the thing that has turned Snow into a screaming mess - and this is the cause that dissolves all of Theon’s apprehensions, that makes all Ironborn scruples fly away - he needs more. 

“Fuck me already, Snow,” he pants, rocking back against the bastard’s finger, one insufficient now. Theon  _ wants _ more. 

No answer follows, but a second finger joins the first and for a moment there’s a sting that nearly overrides the pleasure and Theon’s cock wilts a little in Snow’s hand - then that sweet spot is hit by two fingers, two deft fingers adding pressure to it.

Theon jerks back, anything to get more, he impales himself harshly on Snow’s fingers before fucking forward into his fist, and suddenly Snow moans behind him, his fingers twitching. 

“Gods, Theon, you feel so good…”

Snow’s hand leaves his prick for a moment and a warm liquid is poured over a third finger joining the others, it’s going smooth now, a slick glide, and despite the burn Theon can’t help but welcome it, anything, all of it -- Snow’s hand goes back to jerking Theon’s cock fast; his thumb presses down on the slit, three fingers massage his insides, graze that spot - the tension mounts into the unbearable, peaks - shatters into a million pieces. 

Slowly his senses return, and Theon becomes aware of it all at once: his cock, abandoned now, sticky and soft; Snow’s fingers slowly gliding out of him; Snow’s heavy breathing - did he come? Theon sinks down, trying to find his voice, to ask--

“Theon.”

The bastard’s voice is strangled, not relaxed or satisfied, but it is the second time he’s using Theon’s name now, so Theon dares to hope he hasn’t fucked up again. Snow collapses on the bed, lying on his back, his chest flushed, his stomach heaving, his prick - jutting out hard and throbbing towards his belly. 

Theon groans. Again it’s been him, and only him to spend, to get off, and in a desperate move to set things right, he leans over and takes Snow in his mouth. It nearly sends the bastard off the bed in surprise and it hardly takes a couple of licks for Snow to spill his seed all over Theon’s mouth and chin. 

Theon falls back, licking his lips, he looks over at Snow’s astonished face - and starts laughing. There he is, the heir to the Seastone Chair, an Ironborn prince, with his arse stretched from a bastard’s fingers and that very same bastard’s seed staining his face. So what the fuck. 

***

“Oof.”

With a satisfied grunt Theon releases Snow’s prick and rolls off of him, his own prick sliding from the bastard’s mouth with a nice, wet plop. They’ve been doing this for a couple of weeks now, every night without fail and sometimes during the day when they can get away without being missed. 

Theon often thanks his lucky stars - some of the Stark family are either oblivious to most things (Robb and Lord Stark) or just don’t care enough for them to question their whereabouts (Lady Stark and Sansa), or are just too young to have an idea of why they both would vanish at the same time. The only real concern could be Arya Underfoot, but since Theon  _ accidentally _ left a bow and a couple of arrows where she was sure to find them, she’s been invisible herself a lot of the time. 

So he’s reasonably sure that this secret sport he has with Snow is quite safe from discovery, which is only good since Theon’d be loath to give it up again. He hasn’t felt this content and satisfied ever, without having fucked a single wench or whore in all those days. He doesn’t need them as long as he’s got Snow. 

“So,” says Snow, interrupting Theon’s lazy musings. “Think you’ll ever fuck me again?”

Huh? This has Theon sit up to get a better look at the bastard decoratively sprawled out on the foot of his bed. His brow is furrowed, Theon notes with slight annoyance. Really, only Snow can look that gloomy after a bone-crushing orgasm like that. 

“I’m serious, Theon,” pouts the bastard. “We’re doing…  _ stuff _ … all the time now and yet you haven’t tried to fuck me again.”

Theon sighs, closing his eyes. Snow’s right, Theon hasn’t even tried anything in that regard. And while he regularly comes with Snow’s fingers or tongue up his arse these days, Snow’s own butt has remained untouched. Truth be told - Theon is scared to fuck up again.

“You said you’ll forgive me when I let you fuck me,” he says to gather some time. “You haven’t technically fucked me though, so - am I forgiven?”

Snow snorts. “I’ve just had your balls in my mouth, Greyjoy, what do you think?”

Theon’s prick gives a pathetic little twitch at that, but he knows that’s all it can do. Snow’s outdone himself this night with his mouth and hands, and another round will have to wait until the morrow.

Snow heaves a long-suffering sigh at Theon’s silence. “Do you need a formal invitation? Fuck. Me.”

There it is, the moment Theon has dreamed of, has thought of so much - and he’s too spent to do it! Snow’s face grows darker every second nothing happens, and Theon really hasn’t the heart to disappoint him. Of course he always could…

“Give me the stone cock,” he says, starting to grin with mirth. This is perfect, at least the damn object won’t fucking spill too soon!

“ _The_ _stone cock_?” 

Snow’s indignation is clear and Theon snorts. 

“You just sucked me dry for the third time in a row, Snow. I’m not actually  _ made  _ of iron, you know? But you want to be fucked, and the Drowned God help me I’ll fuck you so hard on that thing we won’t need any time at all to prepare you for my  _ real cock _ the second I’m rested enough.”

The bastard gapes at him, open-mouthed, making a little gesture towards his pillow. Grinning, Theon slips his hand underneath - and there they are, cock and plug, neatly folded in that piece of fabric Theon wrapped it in when first giving it to Snow. He also finds a bottle of flaxseed oil - perfect.

“Lay down on your back, Snow. I want to see your face while I destroy you with this.”

The delectable bastard does as he’s told and shuffles up next to Theon. Then, to Theon’s surprise, he doesn’t lay down but wraps both hands around Theon’s neck, pulling him into a hard, biting kiss. “Do your worst, Greyjoy,” he mumbles, slides back into the pillows - and opens his thighs. 

And damn, that sight hasn’t lost any of its allure, the dusty pink entrance slightly puffy again, inviting and - Theon raises an eyebrow. “Snow? What the heck had you in there lately?” He tries to quell the rising jealousy, but the thought that Snow might’ve found someone else in the meantime is tightening Theon’s chest. 

“Seriously, Greyjoy?” The bastard rolls his eyes. “You were there, weren’t you?”

There? What? Where? Theon shakes his head and reaches out, softly trailing his fingers over Snow’s thigh. He’s pretty sure he’d remember anything involving Snow’s arse. Unable to help himself he lets his fingers wander up to Snow’s half-hard prick, giving it a lazy stroke before moving lower, over his balls, until his fingertips graze Snow’s hole.

“Fuck,” grunts Snow, “oh yes… We were riding today? And Robb asked why I was so fidgety?”

Oh. Absently, Theon puts two of his fingers between his lips, getting them wet and slick. Yes, he remembers that. “So what does this have to do with your arse?” He removes the fingers from his mouth and, without further notice, buries them to the knuckle in Snow’s hole, making the bastard hiss and writhe. 

“Seven… Theon…” Snow gasps as Theon moves his fingers in and out slowly. “What do you think, you idiot? I was… oh… I was wearing the plug.”

Theon’s eyes fall shut, his fingers immobile in Snow. What a picture… Snow riding with them and every little bump driving the plug deeper and harder into him… It must’ve been agony, he must’ve been so hard, if Theon had only known… 

Snow clenches down on Theon’s fingers so violently, Theon yelps in pain. “Sorry, sorry…” To make up for this lapse in focus he starts plunging them in faster, crooking them to get to Snow’s sweet spot. He knows he’s found it when Snow cries out, throwing his head back. 

“More, Theon. Give me… I need…”

“Yes, yes, we’re getting there,” Theon mutters, his free hand searching the furs for the oil. “Greedy bastard.”

Snow chuckles, then gasps when Theon pours some oil over his fingers where they disappear in him, dipping out and back in in a slick slide, rubbing the oil on his insides. It goes so smooth, so easy, and Theon removes his fingers with a wet sound.

“Ready to be fucked on a cold object, Snow?”

“I’d rather it was your dick,” Snow mutters sullenly. “But since you’re not  _ up to the task _ …”

Insolent boy, Theon thinks with something like fondness. He hasn’t said anything and Snow’s beyond noticing it, but all that talk about plugs and the feeling of Snow’s warm hole have done their job, and Theon’s prick has started to fill with blood again. 

“Wasn’t it you who said he’d rather have the stone cock than me ever again?” Theon asks while idly slicking the long shape with more oil. “I think I do remember something like that.”

“Theon…” Snow’s glare is murderous, his greedy little fingers reaching down to touch himself, but Theon slaps him away with a laugh. “You shall have your wish, dear bastard.”

And without further ado he slams the stone into Snow. The bastard screams so loud Theon fears he’s hurt him for a moment, but then Snow moans so lewdly all of Theon’s apprehensions disappear. 

“You like it so much,” he whispers, astonished, as he regards Snow’s flushed face, eyes closed, pink, plump lips parting in another guttural moan. “You love it!”

“Love,” Snow gasps, rocking down hard, “yes, oh gods, yes…”

Theon can’t get enough of the sight, of Snow’s face, Snow’s hand clutching at the furs, Snow’s stomach contracting everytime Theon hits his sweet spot, Snow’s stretched opening swallowing the stone cock like it was made for this. He needs to get a better view.

“Roll over, Snow, on your stomach, get on your knees.” Theon shivers slightly at another long moan from Snow’s throat. He’s rock-hard again now. “I want to see… everything.”

Snow huffs but obeys, rolling over and quickly settling down again, arse high up, face buried in a pillow - which is a pity, for Theon can’t see his abandon anymore, but he still hears him. That boy is really fucking  _ loud.  _ And gets even louder when Theon starts fucking into him with the toy again, angling the unforgiving hard thing just right to stab the right spot over and over again, until Snow is constantly moaning and crying out. 

He can’t bear it any longer. With one last glide Theon moves the toy out of Snow, giving him time for no more than an unwilling sound before lining himself up and thrusting in as deep as he can. Snow screams in surprise and Theon has to repress a cry of his own when he finally feels the tight walls gripping him again snugly, so hot and so  _ good.  _

With one quick move Theon wraps his arms around Snow’s chest and pulls him flush against his body, fucking up into him as he starts placing wet, open-mouthed kisses all over his neck and shoulder. Snow pants and moans and shivers, nearly sobs when Theon manages to hit the right spot. 

Supporting Snow with one arm, Theon grips his bouncing cock tightly in his fist, letting Snow fuck in and out of it with every thrust he’s issuing into him. Snow whines and tilts his head, and for a moment their eyes meet, Snow’s black with lust and full of something Theon hasn’t ever noticed before in anyone he’d fucked. 

It’s an awkward angle but Theon manages to take Snow’s mouth while grinding into him as deep as he can. His hand on Snow’s prick moves faster while Theon barely moves in him, he bites down on Snow’s delicious, full bottom lip and with a last, loud cry Snow spills hot seed over Theon’s hand. 

Theon pulls out, carefully lifting Jon from his lap and down onto the furs. He’s proud with himself. Snow has come and Theon’s still hard, and now he can concentrate on his own pleasure. This pleasure is greatly enhanced by the sight of Snow, lying on his back beneath Theon, full body shudders running through him still, his legs open and his used hole on display. 

Theon sees the oil dripping out of Snow and he can’t stop himself, he can’t stay away, and slowly breaches Snow again with two fingers, fucking into him while frantically stripping his own prick. Snow trembles and moans, tosses his head back and forth on the pillows, but makes no move to escape Theon’s fingers working in him. 

“Theon, I think… oh oh oh… AAAH!!”

Snow’s soft dick twitches and spurts a tiny drop of liquid, Theon removes his fingers with a lewd, squelching sound, his prick pulses in his fist and his back goes rigid as he paints Snow’s slick, red hole with his seed. 

When the world stops rocking beneath him, Theon realises he’s slumped down, now halfway lying on Snow’s stomach. He lifts a heavy hand and idly pats Snow’s sweat-dampened thigh. 

“I do hope this now was to your liking, Snow.”

No answer, and Theon cranes his head. He cannot help the smug grin spreading across his face at the sight. The bastard’s fast asleep, a soft smile on his lips. 

***

Theon dreams. It’s a nice dream, warm and comfortable, floating in gentle water, softly stroking his limbs, his cock - Theon’s eyes fly open. What the… His cock  _ is _ engulfed in something warm and wet, and when a cloud vanishes and the moonlight shines into his room, he can see a head full of dark curls swaying back and forth between his legs. 

“Snow?” Theon asks, voice heavy with sleep. “What… it’s the middle of the night!”

Snow pulls off of Theon’s prick, cruelly leaving it to the cold air. “Wanted a fuck.”

“So what,” Theon grumbles, fake-annoyed. “You take the stone cock you’d rather have over me.”

“Will you ever forget that I said that?” Snow’s hand is now lazily stroking Theon’s prick, every so often he brushes a finger over the slit, making Theon writhe. “I was angry at you.”

“You look angry with me now,” Theon observes, biting back a moan when Snow jerks his wrist abruptly. “You look always angry with me.”

“Hm…”

With that noncommittal noise, Snow lets go of Theon’s prick and sidles up to kiss him surprisingly thorough, what with it being the middle of the night and all that. But he’s straddling Theon’s hips now, and Theon’s prick rubs nicely against Snow’s, so all in all Theon’s got no reason to complain. Except when Snow breaks the kiss and tweaks Theon’s nipple, hard.

“ _ Ouch _ !” Theon bucks up, but Snow stays firmly in the saddle, glowering down on him with something like dark satisfaction. “What was that for, bastard?”

“That!” Another pinch, and Theon wails. Snow snorts, rocking his hips so that their pricks slide together while issuing one mean pinch after the other to Theon’s teats. “Bastard, Snow,  _ you. _ I have a name, you know?”

That’s what’s vexing him? Theon wants to protest, he’s sure he’s called him by his first name before. But trying to think of an occasion, trying to remember the last decade, is hard enough even when his prick is  _ not _ sliding between Snow’s arsecheeks on his next move. 

Which is exactly what is happening, in addition to Snow torturing Theon’s poor teats in the most delicious manner, tweaking and pinching and rubbing and rolling them between his skilled fingers - it’s a wonder Theon remembers his  _ own  _ name, nevermind Snow’s. 

“I just… I dunno,” mumbles the bastard as he wriggles his butt to accommodate Theon’s cock between his already slicked cheeks. “You know I never liked you, Greyjoy.”

“Why, thank you,” Theon grumbles, then moans as his prick catches in Snow’s hole for a moment. Snow echoes the moan and repeats the movement until Theon has to divert himself from just spilling like this. “Care to explain how it comes that you’re nearly bouncing on my prick just now when you dislike me so much?”

Snow’s eyes narrow to black slits, glaring daggers at Theon, and on his next move down he angles himself slightly forward and sheats himself on Theon’s cock in one smooth, slick glide. Theon thrusts up in ecstasy, the sensation of being in Snow almost too much at once. 

They groan in unison, and then Snow starts picking up pace, his hole swallowing Theon and releasing him again, the only sounds now their panting and the squelching sounds from where they’re connected. 

“I want… I want… Theon, I  _ want… _ ”

When Theon wants to touch Snow, to let his hands roam over his chest, they’re slapped away. So he lies back, watching Snow riding him, his frown as severe as ever while he pants and moans and fucks himself on Theon’s cock as if it were the only thing left in the world. 

Snow leans back, grabbing Theon’s thighs hard enough to bruise, his movements get faster and faster until on one last push down he goes rigid, screaming out as his untouched prick spills ribbons of warm seed over his belly.

The bastard relaxes a little, still skewered on Theon’s cock he eases himself forward until his face is hovering over Theon’s. His eyes are pleading now, back to their usual warm brown. “I want to be Jon to you,” he whispers.

Theon throws him off. 

The shock and hurt in Snow’s eyes are of a short duration, they widen in surprise when Theon stretches out above him. Theon looks down into Snow’s face, studying it closely before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He shifts until he’s lying between Snow’s spread legs, until the head of his prick nudges his still slick hole again. 

“Do you not like me?” Theon asks, pressing a little forward until Snow whimpers, then pulls back again. Snow shakes his head. 

“Do you like my prick?” Another slight advance, he can feel the head breaching the tight opening. Snow tries to rock down, but Theon moves back in time. Snow makes a sound, full of need and longing, but shakes his head. 

“Do you like  _ me _ ?” Theon asks, breaching Snow again while preventing him from answering with a greedy, all-consuming kiss. Snow’s eyes are closed when Theon breaks away, there’s a wet glitter in one corner and Theon smiles. “Do you like me?” he whispers again, “Jon?”

A hardly discernible nod is his answer, but Theon sees it all the same. With one long thrust he buries his prick in Jon until he doesn’t get any deeper. Jon sobs, clenching around him and Theon swallows the sound with his mouth, spending hard in Jon until he runs out of seed, and fucks to give. 

“Good,” he says as matter-of-factly as he can. “I like you quite well myself.”

***

“I don’t see why we have to do this. Why can’t I wear my own clothes?”

Theon sighs at Jon’s petulant voice. They’ve been through this over and over again. “Because we don’t want word to spread that Lord Stark’s bastard is a deviant, and for the Greyjoy ward of all people?” He pats Jon’s backside fondly. “No, today you’re my girl. And I really don’t know why you keep complaining. You look really pretty in Ros’ dress.”

“It’s too long,” Jon mutters stubbornly, glancing at Ros. “She’s taller than me.”

“Who isn’t,” Theon mumbles, then shoos his two  _ wenches  _ inside the merchant’s tent. “Now in you go, love, and remember - whatever you like I’ll buy for you.”

This prospect has Jon finally shut up, and once inside the tent his eyes grow wide as saucers at the sight of the things on display. Theon can’t exactly blame him, though, the wealth of toys and other mysterious things is amazing. 

While Ros has already started the negotiations for what the brothel owner has sent her to get, Theon follows Jon around, amused with his obvious delight. A short, bald man sidles up next to Jon, pinching his butt through the layers of fabric covering it. Jon jumps a little, and Theon just manages to grab his hand before he can punch the man.

“What a sweet little flower you have, m’lord,” the man practically purrs, “Are you here to buy toys for her?”

“Aye,” Theon nods, “her cunt and ass require more training than I can provide.”

Jon’s blunt, short nails dig into his arm at that, and Theon knows there’ll be seven hells to pay for that comment. Well, it’s all just to keep up the charade. And right now Jon is very much distracted by the salesman and his - very suggestive - display of toys. 

“These, my dear,” the merchant remarks, “are the moons of pleasure. See here the string between the balls, connecting them securely so they won’t get lost inside of your tight, warm--”

A reproachful glare from Theon makes the man stop in his tracks, he clears his throat and shoots Theon a sullen look before turning his smile back to Jon. 

“They can be used in any opening you or your master fancy, sweet child. We carry them in several sizes.”

Jon turns his head to look at Theon, eyes wide and pleading. Theon nods, and the merchant smiles greasily. After Jon has picked two different moon-pleasure-thingies, the man continues to show them other toys, stone cocks and plugs and even one huge thing, long and thick like an entire arm, and while Jon’s mouth is hanging open in fascination, Theon resolutely shakes his head. Really, _really_ _not._

In the end Theon purchases two moons of pleasure, another (quite sizeable) plug, two stone cocks and some sort of nipple clips that Jon had eyed highly interested. (“They’re for you,  _ master,”  _ he’d said with a twinkle in his eye. Damn Theon’s sensitive teats!) 

On top of that Theon’s also got them a couple flasks of outrageously expensive almond oil. (“The flaxseed tastes no good,” Jon had complained.) With Ros having her purchase completed, they step outside. Theon is held back by the merchant. 

“If you ever grow tired of your pretty toy, think of me. I’d be more than willing to take her off your hands.” 

He tinkles with some coins in his pocket, looking at Theon expectantly. Theon watches Jon and Ros go ahead, immersed in deep conversation - not about him, he hopes. Jon stops, looking back over his shoulder, huffing impatiently. 

“Greyjoy, move your lazy ass!”

“Sorry,” Theon says to the man still waiting for an answer. He smiles. “Not for all the gold in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see, did you see? I actually managed to put the SAP in here :D  
> If you know my stories you know how much I'm a sucker for Jon/Theon sap <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone :)

**Author's Note:**

> Anon, I hope you read this and enjoy what I did so far - it does get a little plottier in the next chapter :)
> 
> Everyone else, I hope you like it!!


End file.
